Born without Wings
by Circumversio
Summary: When Amphelisia Ardene and her siblings are forced to move from America to England after tragedy strikes, she doesn't know what to think - or expect. Whilst adjusting to the strangeness that is Hogwarts, and accepting her loss, Amphelisia finds herself in precarious situations she'd never have gotten into otherwise. Can she recover from the damage or will she remain hollow forever?
1. Prelude

**Disclaimer**: I do not own _Harry Potter_ at all, nor do I own the characters (except the ones I created, of course), and I do not - in any way whatsoever - make any profit from writing this story. This has come into existence purely for the pleasure of myself – the author of the work – and any one individual who sees it fit to give a read.

* * *

A feminine voice could be heard swearing loudly throughout the vicinity, the female in question having just had her foot collide rather painfully against the edge of her bedside cabinet, resulting in a sudden torrent of pain jolting up her leg, and receding until it was concentrated mainly upon her toes.

She stumbled toward her layer, sitting herself down upon it and resting her foot on her knee, peeling off her sock – which had been just recently tainted with a reasonably sized spot of crimson.

"_Great_," she hissed acerbically between clenched teeth; the pain did nothing to soothe her anger.

With a profound amount of swearing and stumbling, Amphelisia Ardene limped toward the nearest lavatory, pulling open and rummaging through various cabinets and drawers until she came upon a bundle of bandages.

She tended to her wounds in relative silence, spare for some innocuous hissing due to particularly painful jolts of displeasure.

"What happened to you?" came a timid query in the vague direction of the doorway.

"I stubbed my toe; what does it look like?" Amphelisia replied apathetically, brushing her side swept fringe out of her pale emerald eyes, sequentially meeting the gaze of two anxious cerulean ones.

"It was just a question, Ammy," Anestassia, Amphelisia's ten-year-old younger sister, said in an undertone, her dark eyes downcast and her loosely plaited auburn curls obscuring her adolescent visage.

Amphelisia sighed audibly; "Right, yeah – sorry, Tessie."

"Oh, it's alright!" Anestassia breathed hurriedly, her eyes widening.

"Of course it is," said Ammy with a chuckle. "Don't be so timid, Anestassia – you're worthy of being heard; don't forget that."

"I won't," Anestassia murmured, smiling softly.

Ammy was approximately halfway down the hall when she heard Anestassia's mellow voice calling out to her.

"And if you ever need to talk about – about _it _– I'm here for you!" she said; "We all are."

"Oh yeah?" said Amphelisia exigently.

"Ye- Yeah!" stuttered Anestassia after a brief lapse of noise.

"I'll keep that in mind, then."


	2. Laughing Fire

Roughly three months after the incident, Amphelisia found herself scrutinizing the Great Hall of Hogwarts from her seat; denying the fact that the grandeur of the castle slightly mesmerized her would be a folly.

The scores of pupils who were residing in the fortress quickly filled the Hall with incessant chatter, not one bench of the four lengthy House tables left unoccupied. The enchanted ceiling above, which imitated the starless obsidian sky one would see should they step outside or which could be glimpsed through the high, expansive windows lining the walls, was by far her favorite aspect of the place.

She noted with amusement the candles meandering about the room listlessly, floating high up in the air or wading down below and just barely managing a height that wouldn't risk anyone's hair catching fire. The flicker of luminosity each torch provided illuminated the transparent apparitions of the fallen who were scattered about the Hall along with the visages of students conversing eagerly amongst one another.

She wasn't at all surprised when she glimpsed Harry Potter, the 'Boy-Who-Lived'; she'd heeded many rumors of his attending the academy, though she hadn't heard much about that 'He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named' character, the Dark Wizard that had been vanquished by a mere infant. In her opinion, he wasn't entirely formidable if a mere _child_ could vanquish him; then again, what did she really know of the circumstances? Alternatively, of the man himself? Not much at all.

"Ammy, look!" Anestassia, now eleven, chirped next to her, pointing to the Gryffindor House ghost, Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington or, as he was more famously known as, Nearly Headless Nick. The apparition in question had his head dangling from his neck in a most unbecoming manner, and Amphelisia averted her eyes quickly in order to resist the urge to gag.

"Does he do that a lot?" she asked Ginny Weasley, who had surreptitiously slid into the opposite seat of Amphelisia in order to reap additional information on the new Gryffindors. Ammy found the girl to be pleasant company, and wasn't entirely bothered by that fact; it had, after all, resulted in the two becoming fast friends.

"Not really. He usually does it during the Welcoming Feast for the first years, but not always," the redhead replied offhandedly, touching her golden goblet of pumpkin juice to her lips and taking a sip.

"Good," Amphelisia proclaimed with a distasteful grimace.

"Problem?" Ginny inquired with raised eyebrows.

"I just don't like to see _that_ when eating!" Amphelisia hissed, a hint of indignation working its way into her tone.

Ginny's only response was a noncommittal shrug of her shoulders as she plucked a chicken leg from a nearby plate and commenced eating.

"Meanwhile, there's a Ravenclaw staring at us – well, staring at _you_. Do you know him?" she asked after a while.

"Hmm?" Amphelisia hummed, twisting round in her seat in order to better see the Ravenclaw in question. "Oh, him. Yeah, that's my little brother, Quinton."

"So, you have a little sister _and _a little brother?"

"You're one to talk, Miss _Six Brothers_," Amphelisia teased, smiling slightly, her pale emerald eyes twinkling in merriment.

"Oh, shut up," Ginny said, though she wasn't the least bit peeved.

Amphelisia smirked, seizing a fresh roll of bread and tearing off a bit at the end, popping it into her mouth.

"And, for your information, I also have an older sister; her name's Millennia, she's a Slytherin sixth year," – Ginny made a face, though Ammy disregarded it – "and an older brother, Willem; he graduated three years before now, at the school I went to before I came here."

Ginevra nodded in understanding; "What school did you go to before transferring?"

"The Salem Institute of Magic in America," Ammy supplied flippantly.

"No wonder you've a weird accent," Ginny mocked, her bright brown eyes swimming with mirth.

"It's not weird, Ginny, it's just different!" Amphelisia exclaimed, though she was smiling; she had a feeling she and Ginny would grow to be pleasant companions, for she didn't mind the redhead's personality in the least.

"Well, it's weird to _me_," Ginny countered lightheartedly.

"Yes, well, I don't particularly care," Ammy joked, arching a dark eyebrow.

"Your words sting, Amphelisia!" the fellow Gryffindor gasped with mock-hurt, placing her hand over her heart and throwing Ammy one of the best fake-hurt expressions she'd ever laid witness to.

"My apologies, then," Ammy said in-between sniggers.

* * *

"Might I ask who exactly _designed _this place?" Amphelisia huffed; her old academy did not have stairs like _that_.

"Oh, hold on, let me just consult my endless supply of knowledge of the goings-on in the tenth century," Ginny responded sardonically, arching her eyebrows.

"Smartass," the other girl snorted, shaking her head imperceptibly at the younger girl.

"Good to know my posterior has intelligence," Ginny returned, a smile gracing her features.

"Now you're just being _cheeky_," said Ammy, smirking; Ginny let out a jovial titter.


	3. The Cherry Toad

**Author's Note: **_Sorry for the semi-long wait - I just hadn't gotten round to finishing this up until a while ago. I know, shame on me. Anyway, I do hope I might get a review or two, as I'm dying to know what you all think, but first and foremost, I hope you enjoy the story! Personally, I plan to make every chapter around 1,000 words each, but more often than not it either falls short a bit, or goes over. I can never achieve utter perfection, then, I guess._

* * *

"I genuinely feel sorry for you right now. I really, truly do," said Ginny as the two Gryffindor girls descended the grand staircase to attend breakfast.

"Why, exactly?" Amphelisia inquired, casting a sidelong look at the young redhead, a dark eyebrow arched.

"You've got Binns, Snape, Trelawney, and the Umbridge woman all in one day. That's probably the worst Monday in history," she informed, sending Ammy a vaguely sympathetic look. "Let's hope you survive."

"I agree with you on Umbridge, but what's so bad about the others?" Amphelisia pressed, pale emerald eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"Oh, you'll see soon enough," Ginny supplied facetiously, proceeding into the Great Hall without another word on the subject.

* * *

Amphelisia had never, _ever_ fallen asleep during a lesson; it was a small, minuscule detail she took pride in, as many others did so rather consistently. However, it seemed that a certain ghost by the name of Cuthbert Binns had managed to break her streak. _Damn._

She had no doubt in her mind that she'd never grow remotely fond of History of Magic. Yes, she'd concede that it was rather essential to know of ones history. Nonetheless, she hadn't a care for it; she did not, after all, desire the position of historian any time soon.

However, she'd readily go to History of Magic instead of Divination, which she found to be utterly useless to her.

Although, on the whole, it wasn't the subject itself which she didn't like or care for – it was the fact that she wasn't a Seer, and therefore would never be able to genuinely pass the class. Then again, she wasn't entirely ecstatic about the dream journal they'd been assigned, either…

Potions was generally tolerable; she'd never been lacking in the subject, and had rather excelled in it back when she attended the Salem Institute in America, though she didn't think Professor Snape and herself would ever see eye to eye; she was pondering the idea of sending him a bottle of shampoo for Christmas, though the notion was still just a notion.

Therefore, it was with a rather dispassionate air that she navigated the castle's interior towards her last lesson of the day, and quite possibly the most little anticipated: Defense Against the Dark Arts.

* * *

For a moment all that could be heard in the vicinity was the sharp scratching of quills upon parchment. After everyone had documented Professor Umbridge's three course aims which she had written on the blackboard behind her, she asked, "Has everybody got a copy of _Defensive Magical Theory _by Wilbert Slinkhard?"

There was a monotonous wave of muttering in confirmation throughout the room.

"I think we'll try that again," said Umbridge. "When I ask you a question, I should like you to reply 'Yes, Professor Umbridge,' or 'No, Professor Umbridge.' So, has everyone got a copy of _Defensive Magical Theory _by Wilbert Slinkhard?"

"Yes, Professor Umbridge," the class chimed.

"Good," said the Professor. "I should like you to turn to page five and read chapter one, 'Basics for Beginners.' There will be no need to talk."

_Nope_, Amphelisia thought bitterly as she rifled through the pages of her textbook. _I'll never like you. Tolerate, possibly; like, never._

After several protracted, tedious minutes of attempting to keep her concentration on the passage, Ammy felt her focus wavering; the textbook was turning out to be about as bad as Professor Binns had been.

Following another bout of silence as she once more fought to control her deliberation, Amphelisia gave it up as a bad job and instead of looking at the crisp book opened before her, her eyes took to wandering about the room and examining her fellow peers.

To her right sat a girl who Ammy believed was one of the Patil twins; Ginny had pointed out a few people in her year at breakfast beforehand, though Amphelisia struggled to recall precise names. On her left side sat another girl of whose name Amphelisia did not know, and therefore paid no particular attention to her.

Just as she was about to pull out a spare bit of parchment to sketch on, Amphelisia caught sight of a girl with bushy brown hair's hand patiently thrust into the air, the girl in question gazing intently at the Professor – who, it seemed, was bent on disregarding the schoolgirl's endeavor to acquire attention.

Another several pauses passed before a generous portion of the class was no longer paying heed to the assignment they were tasked with; instead, they were casting glances – some even staring – at the girl and her silent attempt to catch the toad's eye.

When it was clear that the majority of the class were concentrating on the girl, Professor Umbridge apparently came to the conclusion that the situation could not be discounted for much longer.

"Did you want to ask something about the chapter, dear?" she asked, acting as though she had only just noticed the girl.

"Not about the chapter, no," the girl said.

"Well, we're reading just now," said Umbridge, baring her teeth in what Amphelisia assumed was a poor attempt at a smile. "If you have other queries we can deal with them at the end of class."

"I've got a question about your course aims," said the girl clearly.

"And your name is –?" asked Professor Umbridge; her eyebrows rose.

"Hermione Granger."

"Well, Miss Granger, I think the course aims are quite clear if you read them through carefully," said Professor Umbridge, her voice sickly sweet.

"Well, I don't," said Hermione. "There's nothing written up there about _using _defensive spells."

Amphelisia's eyebrows rose coolly, her head turning swiftly in the direction of the blackboard and reading over the aims with a delicate frown; the girl – Hermione – was right, there wasn't even an implication of using spells at all!

Umbridge let out a little laugh; "_Using _defensive spells? Why, I can't fathom a situation that would require you to _use _a defensive spell in here, Miss Granger. You surely aren't expecting to be attacked during class?"

"We're not going to use magic?" said a boy with fiery red hair – Ginny's older brother, Ron – loudly.

"Students will raise their hands when they speak in my class, Mister –?"

"Weasley," said Ron, picking up his hand; Hermione and a boy Ammy recognized to be Harry Potter raised their hands as well.

"Yes, Miss Granger, you wanted to ask something else?"

"Yes – _surely _the whole point of Defense Against the Dark Arts is to practice defensive spells?" said Hermione.

"Are you a Ministry-trained educational expert, Miss Granger?" inquired Professor Umbridge in her deceitfully saccharine voice.

Amphelisia heard the girl beside her mutter in an undertone: "Almost, yeah." And a muffled laugh in response.

"No, but –" Hermione began.

"Well then, you're not qualified to decide what the 'whole point' of a class is; wizards much older cleverer than you have devised our new program of study. You will be learning about defensive spells in a secure, risk-free way –"

_Like that'll teach us anything!_ Amphelisia fumed.

"_Hand_, Mister Potter!" Professor Umbridge trilled; Ammy came to the realization that she had been lost in her own inner musings and hadn't registered Harry speaking at all.

"And your name is?" Umbridge said to a dark-skinned boy who'd had his hand in the air.

"Dean Thomas."

"Well, Mister Thomas?"

"Well, it's like Harry said, isn't it? If we're going to be attacked, it won't be risk-free –"

"I repeat," said Professor Umbridge a bit forcefully, smiling in a most agitating fashion, "do you expect to be attacked during my classes?"

"No, but –"

"I do not wish to criticize the way things have been run in this school," interjected the cherry toad, her irritating grin remaining prominent, "but you have been exposed to some very irresponsible wizards in this class – not to mention," she laughed unpleasantly, "extremely dangerous _half-breeds_."

"If you mean Professor Lupin," said the Thomas boy vehemently, "he was the best we ever –"

"_Hand_, Mister Thomas! As I was saying – you have been introduced to spells that have been complex, inappropriate, and prospectively lethal. You have been frightened into believing that you are likely to meet Dark attacks every other day –"

"No we haven't," piped up Hermione, "we just –"

"_Your hand is not up, Miss Granger!_"

_How about I raise my hand, _Amphelisia seethed inwardly, _and smack you in the face with it, you overgrown, foul, hideous pink bi –_

"Now, it is my understanding that my predecessor not only performed illegal curses in front of you, he actually performed them _on _you –"

Amphelisia's dark eyebrows hit her hairline; Ginny had most conveniently forgotten to mention that. _I wonder what else she's forgotten to tell me about…_

"_Your hand is not up, Mister Thomas!_" Umbridge's shrill cry rang throughout the room, bringing Amphelisia back down to the real world instead of leaving her to her thoughts; apparently, Dean had once more had an unseemly outburst, and was promptly being chastised for it.

"Now," Umbridge continued, "it is the view of the Ministry that a theoretical knowledge will be more than sufficient to get you through your examination, which is what school is all about. And your name is?" she added, her beady eyes gazing at the girl beside Ammy – Parvati, her name was – whose hand had just shot up.

"Parvati Patil, and isn't there a practical bit in our Defense Against the Dark Arts O.W.L.? Aren't we supposed to show that we can actually do the countercurses and things?"

"As long as you have studied the theory hard enough, there is no reason why you should not be able to perform the spells under carefully controlled examination conditions," Professor Umbridge assured dismissively.

_Yep, you're an idiot, _concluded Amphelisia. _Forget tolerating – I think I'd be content with killing you in your sleep instead, you old cow._


	4. The Birth of Nobody

"That there, the girl with the brown hair? No, _next _to the ginger-haired one – no, the left – no, not your left, her left!" Ginny said, a touch of exasperation showing in her voice.

"Well, you're not being very specific!" Amphelisia countered with a roll of her eyes.

"Just because you're too stupid –"

"You're so mean, Ginny," Ammy interposed, gracing her friend with a grin which was immediately mimicked by the younger Gryffindor.

"Yeah, I know," Ginny laughed, shaking her head lightly, a few strands of her crimson locks falling forward and resting against her pale cheeks. "Anyway, that girl's FayDunbar – she's in your year and, from what I can gather, shares a dormitory with you and Hermione."

Amphelisia glanced at the dark-haired girl who was conversing amiably with a ginger-haired one who, Ammy recalled, also shared a dormitory with Hermione and herself.

"I know her – kind of," said Ammy. "I sat next to her in Defense the other day," she supplied after receiving an inquisitive look from the redhead seated across from her.

"Mm, heard that was interesting," Ginny hummed, her russet eyes intent.

"Quite," Amphelisia returned bitterly. "I swear I won't be the least bit remorseful after I've killed her."

Ginny raised her eyebrows, an amused smile playing on her lips.

"Don't look at me like that – I'm serious," Amphelisia said matter-of-factly, tilting her chin up ever so slightly.

"Of course you are," Ginny chortled.

"Oh, alright, alright! But if I get the chance…"

"Yes, I know, you won't hesitate," Ginny finished for her.

"Well, I won't!" Amphelisia assured with a grim scowl.

"Now you're just laying it on a bit thick, don't you think?"

"Maybe."

There was a short bout of silence before both girls erupted into laughter, resulting in a good portion of the students around them to cease conversation in order to see what – or, in this case, _who _– was causing the commotion.

"Okay, well, back to business!" Amphelisia wheezed once their mutual fit of giggles had substantially subsided.

"Hmm, okay, well, that boy over there is SeamusFinnigan," said Ginny, pointing toward a boy with a pale complexion, blue eyes, and sandy hair. "He's in your year too."

"Mm; isn't that DeanThomas – the boy Seamus is talking to?" Amphelisia inquired, a memory of the boy in question returning vividly to the forefront of her mind.

"Yeah," Ginny confirmed warily. "How d'you know Dean?"

Ammy raised her eyebrows, as if to say 'Where do you think?'

"Ah, yes," Ginny said with a nod of her head, "the toad's lair."

"Yep; I think that's all of the Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs, and Gryffindors you know, am I correct?"

Ginny spared a quick onceover of the Great Hall in order to confirm Amphelisia's accuracy. "Yeah, I think so."

"Okay, so what about the Slytherins?" Amphelisia pressed.

"What about them?"

"Don't act obtuse, Ginny, it doesn't look good on you," Amphelisia teased good-naturedly.

"I'm not acting _obtuse_, there's just nothing interesting to know about them; the whole lot of them are pricks," Ginny argued.

"They might be pricks, yes, but I want to know their names so that when I pick on these pricks, I won't look like an idiot asking them for their name," Ammy reasoned with a satisfied smirk curving up the side of her face.

"Fine; there's Parkinson – she's the one with the pug face – then there's Bulstrode, she's the one who looks like a bloke –" Ginny pointed to a girl with black hair and a heavy, jutting jaw that did nothing to help her appearance "– then there's Crabbe and Goyle, basically the same stock as Bulstrode, except they're quite possibly worse." Here, Ginny motioned toward two hulking figures pushing continuous handfuls of food into their already full mouths; Amphelisia found the sight downright disgusting.

"Oh, and then there's Malfoy," Ginny concluded, indicating a slender boy with sleek blonde hair – though Ammy could just barely see the golden hue, as his hair was practically white – pale skin, pointed features, and cold grey eyes. The only reason she could discern what his eyes looked like was because they were turned toward her, the boy in question arching a fine eyebrow exigently.

Amphelisia pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes. "He seems…"

"Like a spineless ferret?" Ginny offered.

"Yeah, that's about right," Ammy agreed half-heartedly with a laugh, averting her gaze from the Slytherin boy. She did not, after all, know the boy – Malfoy, his name was, apparently – and therefore could not form any personal judgment as to his character.

"They're not exactly the best group of people are they?" Amphelisia asked; none of the emerald-clad students seemed at all friendly – not even Ammy's own sister, but when has Millennia ever been remotely kind or concerned without an ulterior motive? _Never._

"Far from it – Slytherin's produced more Dark Wizards than the other three houses combined," Ginny enlightened, her features contorting momentarily into a sneer.

"Lovely," Amphelisia murmured, glancing at the table of Snakes one last time before restoring her interest toward dinner.

"Very," Ginny replied blandly, spearing a sprout with her fork and popping it into her mouth.

"I'm sensing some particularly… _negative _vibes reverberating from you – care to inform me as to why that is?"

"Loads of things," Ginny supplied.

"And I'm guessing the Slytherins are at the very top of this load?" Amphelisia pressed, her brows rising.

"Almost," said the redhead mischievously, rising from her seat and proceeding toward the grand doorway which acted as entrance point for the hall – along with the rest of the school, of course, as they'd just been dismissed to their respective dormitories.

"What do you mean _almost_?" Amphelisia huffed once she'd caught up with the fourteen-year-old; breaking through an enormous crowd was no small feat, after all.

"Almost as in there's something that's even more pressing," said Ginny flippantly, a devious smile curving her lips.

Amphelisia glared at Ginevra out of the corner of her eye, pursing her lips in mild irritation. "I hate it when you do that."

"Do what?" Ginny asked, turning her head slightly.

"Be so – so _vague_," Ammy muttered. "There's only been one other person who has managed to get away with things like that and look at where she is now," she added without thinking; _watch your mouth! _She chastised herself.

Ginny interest had evidently been piqued; "Oh? Who and where would she be?"

"_She _is a nobody who is nowhere – or, at least, not someone who is somewhere that concerns you, that is," Amphelisia said hastily; she didn't consider herself entirely thrilled at the prospect of slitting open a lesion which had only just begun to stitch itself back together. She could practically _feel _herself unraveling, and it was not enjoyable in the least.


	5. Swollen Secret

**A/N_ -_ **_This chapter falls a bit on the short side, but it hints at something that eventually leads to one of the main problems in the story. I'm sorry it took me so long to get this up, my computer decided it hated me until now._

* * *

_Amphelisia gazed intently at the perfection in front of her; how could a simple piece of parchment achieve that which she'd longed to be ever since she could remember? With its creamy exterior, precise cutting, and the slight, elegant curl arcing at the tips; it was the epitome of beauty. And there she'd gone and ruined it by ejaculating a sliver of saliva during a fit of forced laughter. _Must I ruin everything good in the world?

_"I can't believe you _spit_ on your _homework_!" Hermione cried in disbelief; to her, the act of saturating a parchment inhabited by empty knowledge, useless information, and hollow facts was akin to committing mass murder._

_"It was so well written, too!" Amphelisia groaned; she was convinced that the essay was the best she'd ever write._

_"Do you think we'll be able to clean it without erasing the ink? Oh, but it's gotten smudged!" _

_"Wonderful, just wonderful! It's due tomorrow, for god's sake! McGonagall's going to _murder _me," Amphelisia whined, mentally berating herself for permitting her feigned crazed laughter to overwhelm her common sense; why didn't she just move the essay before?!_

There was someone whispering her name…

_"Do you need help organizing the funeral?" Ron asked, chortling._

_"It's not funny!" Ginny hissed, her arm whipping downward and landing with a resounding '_smack' _against her older brother's bicep._

"Amphelisia…" it whispered, the soft breath of the disembodied voice's owner brushing against her ear, neck, and cheek. The slumbering adolescent could distinctly feel a wisp of her dark auburn curls catching to her parted lips, dancing to the inhalations and exhalations emitted through her mouth.

_"It's kind of funny," Harry reasoned, valiantly fighting against the prospectively omnipotent urge to laugh._

"Amphelisia," the voice said, growing louder and louder as it repeated itself.

_"Oh yeah?" Amphelisia challenged, snatching Harry's own paper out of his hands and promptly coating it in her saliva. "How does it feel?"_

_"Oh, now you've done it! You've gone and spit all over my homework!" Harry exclaimed angrily._

"_Amphelisia!_" the voice screeched; Ammy woke with a start as a pillow collided with the side of her head – she tumbled down from her bed, landing with a snarl on the wooden floor below.

"_Hermione!_" she mimicked, gracelessly picking herself up from the floor and rubbing the sore spot on her rump. "How am I going to stand sitting through classes with a bruised butt?"

"It's not her fault you're a ridiculously heavy sleeper," the Dunbar girl reasoned, too preoccupied with the task of sprucing up her sleeping quarters to look at Amphelisia.

"I'm not a _ridiculously _heavy sleeper! I was just having a weird dream, is all," Ammy countered, carelessly throwing the offending pillow behind her; apparently, it had collided with yet another individual, for she heard a distinctly muffled 'oomph!' from somewhere toward her back right.

"What's that on your wrist?" Hermione interjected before the Dunbar girl could get a word in. Amphelisia instinctually tucker her left forearm behind her, narrowing her eyes in a defensive manner.

"What're you talking about?"

"What do you mean what am I talking about; there's something inscribed on the inside of your wrist!" Hermione said, her tone bordering incredulous.

"Oh – that," Ammy mumbled, regretting her instinct to hide and defend the mark. She held out her left arm, the inside of her wrist displayed for all to see. There, a centimeter or two below the section where hand merged to forearm, was a black infinity symbol inked permanently into her skin; along the curving lines was written 'Imperfection is the infinite form of perfect.' "It's nothing, really."

"Why'd you get a _tattoo_?" said a ginger-haired girl whose name Ammy was unaware of; she noted that the girl tended to wear her locks in a double braid.

"I wanted to," Amphelisia replied, lifting her chin fractionally.

"There must've been a good reason for it," Hermione pressed. "Doing something so drastic without purpose is –"

"Is what – foolish? Idiotic? I thought it'd be nice, that's all; don't dwell on it, it's not important," Amphelisia dismissed haughtily, her defenses immediately responding to what she'd trained herself to recognize as treacherous territory.

"No – I didn't mean it like – I'm sorry –" Hermione stammered, remorse creeping into her features.

"Its okay, Hermione; _I'm _sorry – I didn't mean to be harsh," Amphelisia sighed. _Control yourself._

For a moment, Ammy thought she saw a look of pity flash across Hermione's face, but it was gone before she could be sure. _Why would she pity me?_

"It's not important now – over and done with," she said, smiling; Amphelisia found herself effortlessly returning the friendly gesture.

"Right – yeah – over and done with," Amphelisia murmured, tracing the outline of her mark absently. She never wanted to diverse the real reason for corrupting her skin. The discussion was, in its entirety, over and done with.

_In other words: finished_.


End file.
